


Too Important a Thing

by ineffablenerd



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Accidental Cuddling, Angst, Japan Gap, M/M, Only One Bed, only one futon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:14:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27729349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineffablenerd/pseuds/ineffablenerd
Summary: When they finally find an inn to stay in, there's only one futon in the room they share.
Relationships: Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde
Comments: 16
Kudos: 93





	Too Important a Thing

**Author's Note:**

> the working title is "Only one Futon (omg only one futon)" and I need you to know that.
> 
> thank you Zoë for the beta!

They take rooms in the first inn they find.

After weeks of cramped ships, sharing quarters with way too many strangers and then camping on road sides, stones digging into their backs, the constant rain covering anything not stuffed in their bags of holding until they forget what being dry feels like, they almost laugh as the innkeeper apologizes for only having two rooms left. Not even rooms really. Unused Servants' Quarters. But at least there's two of them. At this point they would have been grateful to share just one.

They don't bother with a discussion of who is going to share with whom. Barnes and Carter turn to the right just as Zolf and Wilde turn to the left to slide open the respective doors and settle their meager looking travel gear in the barren rooms.

Wilde starts explaining that the futons are probably stored in the cupboards to the side but Zolf is already back out the door. There's baths to be had. Food to be eaten, real food. Food that he didn't have to make himself.

It's hours later when they get back to the room. Clean and dry for the first time in forever, pleasantly warmed by a full stomach and some sake.

Zolf rummages through his Bag of Holding to find the right Cambell book to read while Wilde turns to the cupboard for the bedding. He opens it with a flourish.

There's one single futon neatly folded at the bottom of it.

"Umm Zolf?" he peers around Wilde and onto the distinct lack of multiple beds.

"Oh for fuck's sake."

"Didn't think this would be how I get to share a bed with you."

"I'll just sleep on the floor. Can't be worse than wet roadside." He turns around and starts rummaging for the thin blankets they've been using on the road.

"Don't be ridiculous Zolf. There's enough space for two people on that thing. And I don't bite unless you want me to. You know that." Wilde pulls out the futon and spreads in the middle of the room.

It's bigger than Zolf expected. Wider than a single bed would be, with thick padding that screams comfort. Or at least more comfort he's had in weeks. Months maybe.

"We literally slept outside on literal rocks in the rain for the last week. I'll be fine." He turns away from the futon, ignoring Wilde's flirtation like always. He picks up one of the camping blankets. It's still damp and crusted in mud.

"You would really rather catch your death with that thing, on the floor, than share a bed with me huh?" Wilde's tone is still jovial but it has a barely noticeable hurt edge to it.

The sake in Zolf's head is making it hard to figure out the logistics of this situation. Sleeping with Wilde? No. Soft bedding? Yes. Is this actually worse than sharing a cabin on a ship? Not really is it? So why is he so against this? He knows when he's being ridiculous. Sometimes he can even get himself to stop.

"Fine. But no funny business!"

"Mr. Smith I am appalled!" Wilde throws a hand to his forehead in fake outrage. "I'll have you know I wait until given full enthusiastic consent at all times, unless specified otherwise beforehand. I would not give up my chance to say I've slept with Zolf Smith for something as inconsequential as _funny business_."

"Fuck you Wilde."

"I am trying, are you not paying attention?" Wilde starts unbuttoning his waistcoat. Still grinning widely he continues, "I would add I normally I sleep in the nude but I'll make an exception as to not scandalize you." He is loving this.

"I am going to murder you." There's no bite behind the threat. Zolf turns his back and starts stripping down to his pants.

They have undressed in front of each other before. Tight quarters, the constant threat of infection, the baths just a few hours ago... undressing in front Wilde is not _new_. But now Zolf realizes it's the first time they are _alone_. He can feel himself blushing and tries to focus on the buttons.

When he turns back around, Wilde is barely halfway out of his shirt, having obviously paused to watch Zolf instead.

"Oh for gods' sake. At least _pretend_ you're not loving this."

"I'm a simple man of simple pleasures."

Zolf huffs and gets under the covers. He opens his book and pretends he's not watching as Wilde meticulously takes off his clothes, folds them and puts them away. It's easy to forget how tall Wilde is, how broad his shoulders actually are, when you only see him slumped on a horse or pouring himself over paperwork. Not that Zold has been looking. Like him, he's now wearing nothing but underpants. Unlike him however, he is already shivering in the cold night air.

"Don't you own a sleep shirt or something? You're gonna freeze."

"Oh my Mr Smith. Have you been _looking_?" Wilde's flirtateous pose is undercut by a full body shiver.

"I do not." He adds, deadpan. "I'll be fine under the covers."

"Just wear a sweater or something." Zolf is acutely aware how susceptible humans are to the cold. He has been casting _Endure Elements_ on the three of them for a week now. "The blankets are thick but you're _always_ cold."

"And where would I get a sweater _from_ exactly? You might have noticed I am not exactly a sweater _person_."

Zolf sighs and gets back up, taking care to place the book carefully to the side. Then he rummages in his pack, pulls out a thick cable knit sweater and presses it into Wilde's arms.

"Won't fit you right but at least you won't die." And he turns on his heels, and back to bed, hopefully without letting Wilde see the blush spreading across his face.

He half expects Wilde won't accept it. Put it back or something. But when he hears soft footsteps across the room, Wilde's wearing it. It's too wide and too short at the same time. On anyone else it would have looked garish but something about how Wilde is tugging at the sleeves to try and cover his forearms makes Zolf's mouth go dry and he goes back to staring at his book.

Wilde pads over to the oil lamp that's been illuminating the room.

"Can I turn this off?"

"Yeah I can read in the dark."

"Jennifer's adventures in romance keeping you enthralled still Mr. Smith?"

"Shut up." Wilde turns off the lamp. And the room falls into darkness.

Zolf can see perfectly clearly how Wilde carefully makes his way back to the futon, he can feel the blanket shift as Wilde lies down on the edge opposite of him, carefully aware of the distance between them.

Only their breaths and the far off sounds of the rain echo through the silence for a while.

Zolf continues to pretend to read but he's not turning any pages. He's looking at Wilde instead, face open and unguarded in the dark. Neither of them is actually trying to sleep.

Wilde's voice cuts through the dark.

"You don't take them off." He is speaking to the ceiling.

Zolf puts the book down and properly faces him. He doesn't think Wilde's face has ever been as close to his as it is now. Not like this.

"Take what off?" He tries to keep his breath even. His heart is in his throat suddenly.

"Your legs. I always wondered if you take them off at night. When it's safe to. It's never been safe to before."

_Oh._ It really hasn't. Not on the ship. Certainly not on the road here or in Europe. Months of travel and such mundane facts were still new.

"They're... they're connected to me. The ports connect right to my nerves basically. They can be taken off for maintenance and repairs but, it's a lot of hassle."

Wilde stays silent for a moment, then he pipes up again.

"Do they hurt?"

"Not, not the legs themselves no. But yeah. Sometimes. The connecting hurts when I put them back on. the ports hurt sometimes. When the weather changes."

Zolf realizes he has never talked to anyone about this. People just needed to know if he was capable of doing the things they wanted him to do. He's never been asked what they feel like before.

"I'm sorry."

"For what? You didn't take my legs from me."

"For asking, I guess. It is a very personal question to ask."

It's Zolf's turn to think of an answer. It is personal. But somehow he didn't mind answering. Not here in this comfortable darkness. Not with Wilde asking so honestly.

"It's fine. I'm much faster now than when it was just the one, which is interesting."

"Huh, I guess."

They fall into silence again. It is not uncomfortable. Zolf can hear Wilde rustling and settling. See him turn his back to him, then to the ceiling again.

"Can you read to me?" Wilde's voice has gone very quiet.

"I-uuh." Zolf clears his throat.

"Yeah sure I guess. Do you want me to start from the beginning?" He glances to Wilde and almost stumbles over his words at how his eyes searchingly look up at him in the darkness. He knows Wilde can't actually see him but he feels those large eyes bore into him regardless.

"That would be lovely." Wilde closes his eyes and burrows his face deeper into the pillow.

And Zolf begins reading.

He almost knows the words by heart, so he reads steadily, even as he keeps glancing over where Wilde's body seems to slowly melt into the bed, as he keeps listening to Wilde's breath slowly even out. He gets caught up in the story's twists once again and when, after a while, he steals another look, Oscar is facing him, loosely curled up under the blanket. His hands are in front of him, almost reaching out to Zolf's side of the bed.

With neither the mask of a smirk nor a brow furrowed in frustration playing around his face, Oscar looks incredibly young. His hair has already started growing out from being shorn off and Zolf stops himself halfway from reaching out to brush it out of his face. This is not for him.

He puts the book away and lies down properly. He automatically turns to his favoured side and immediately regrets his decision because Oscar's face is just right there now. Half an arm's length away, one hand reaching out of the blanket and over to him. This time he can't stop himself and puts his own broad hand over the slender fingers. It's just a short brush of hands but Wilde stirs and his hand flexes, almost like it's trying to hold on to him. Quickly, Zolf pulls away. He couldn't take the comments Wilde would no doubt make if he woke him up with this nonsense. He turns around so he's no longer looking at his sleeping handler, boss, colleague, whatever they are, and tucks his arms to his chest so they won't betray him again.

It takes a long time until he falls asleep.

* * *

He wakes up with a mouth full of hair and a warm presence on his side.

Oscar has his head on his chest, one of his arms is slung across Zolf's waist, tugging him in close and one of his legs is tangled across Zolfs'.

When he stirs, so does Oscar, pulling him closer still and burrowing his face in Zolf's neck.

Zolf forgets to breathe. He should feel trapped, half buried under the man he threatened to drown in a bucket not too long ago, but he doesn't. Calm might be the wrong word, considering how fast his heart is beating in his throat. Zolf doesn't feel at ease knowing that, when he wakes up, he's going to be Wilde again, sarcastic and closed off. Shrugging this situation off with an innuendo and a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

But it does feel natural somehow. Oscar tucked into his side, the memory of reading to him still right behind his eyes and the smell of his hair tickling his nose. Like it's supposed to be like this.

Zolf closes his eyes and tries to commit this feeling to his memory in as much detail as he can. As soon as he moves, as soon as he tries to get up, he knows Oscar will wake up, and this feeling will be gone. And he might never get the chance to explore it again.

The state of the world didn't allow for waking up like this. Their line of work didn't allow for lying like this. And awake Wilde? He wouldn't do this. Wouldn't allow this. Clinging to a damaged old dwarf like he's something worth holding on to. He knows he isn't.

He takes another minute to calm himself, to center and prepare himself for what is to come, and starts untangling Oscar from himself. The bard stirs and lets himself be shifted, but doesn't wake up until Zolf carefully shrugs off his head onto the nearby pillow, when his hands come up a bit and he makes a small noise.

It sounds like " _Please don't go._ "

Zolf tries not to hear it. To not let his thoughts go to a place where these words are true.

He carefully moves himself to where he can grab his clothes without having to stand up, risking waking up Oscar with the clank of metal feet on wood, and quickly gets dressed. Once his boots are on and he knows he can at least try to walk quietly he allows himself one last indulgence.

He moves the hair out of Oscar's face like he didn't dare to last night. He can almost imagine Oscar sighing into the touch.

Before the urge to press his lips to Oscar's hair can overwhelm him, he leaves the room without looking back. He doesn't see Oscar blinking awake with the lack of warmth next to him, his eyes barely focussing before the door slides closed. He doesn't see Oscar touching his face where Zolf's hand ghosted over it just a moment ago. He doesn't see the look on Oscar's face. Longing. Lonely. Mirroring his own.

**Author's Note:**

> I started this as fluffy. I really did. I am incabable of not-angst.


End file.
